


The Big Bad Wolf

by round_robin



Series: Kinks in Your Back [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fairy Tales, M/M, PWP, Role Playing, not series two compatible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's in the basket, John?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Bad Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed or Brit-picked, so if you see a typo, I'd love to know about it.

“What’s in the basket, John?”

John sighed, trying really, _really_ hard not to roll his eyes at Sherlock. He knew that voice. The low, seductive almost-growl. Usually, he more than welcomed it, but right now he was busy. He turned around and gave Sherlock a patient smile, lifting the small bag. “Soup and some flu meds. I’m off to Harry’s. She just called and said she was sick. She knows that I won’t help her with hangovers, so this might actually be the real thing.”

“Possibly,” Sherlock rumbled again. Gracefully unfolding himself from the couch, he walked over to John. Practically stalked him down. He was naked under his dressing gown, and John could see the tight coiling of deceptively strong muscle rippling under the smooth fabric. Suddenly, Sherlock was there, right next to him. Not touching him, but still… close. Another inch and they’d be pressed flush together. John could already feel Sherlock’s body heat pounding against him. See the little thump, thump, thump of his heart beating at his neck.

“Not that I wouldn’t love to,” John managed to say and took a step back. “But I’ve got to get this to Harry. When I get back, though…” his eyes fluttered shut as Sherlock’s long, lovely fingers trailed over his neck. “Definitely when I get back.”

“You know,” Sherlock said as if John hadn’t spoken. While his one hand teased John’s neck, the other went up to pluck at John’s hat. “I like this red hat of yours. This color looks heavenly on you.”

“Yeah,” John nodded, watching those lips get closer and closer, dipping down to flick over his ear. “Well, you know, it’s cold out.”

“Mmm, yes.” Sherlock mumbled. Whatever distance John managed to put between them was lost again as Sherlock took another step forward and buried his face in John’s neck. “And it’s nice and warm in here. You should stay here.”

“Sherlock, I—” whatever protest John was trying to make was cut off by those long, clever fingers working their way past his zip. Far enough in to touch his half-hard prick. Make that fully hard. “Uh, God,” John moaned, hips thrusting of their own accord. “What long fingers you have,” he whispered into Sherlock’s hair.

“The better to touch you with, my dear.” Sherlock said.

John couldn’t help but moan at the teasing kisses Sherlock was trailing up and down his neck. He could just imagine the sight of those plush lips pressed against his overheated skin. He moaned again. “What talented lips you have,” he said.

“The better to kiss you with, my dear.” Sherlock said.

His free hand (the one not in John’s trousers) dropped down to untie the belt of his dressing gown. John had been right: he wasn’t wearing anything else. As soon as the fabric parted, Sherlock’s erection—already straining and leaking with need—started rutting its way against John’s thigh.

“Oh, Sherlock,” John whispered. “What a big cock you have.”

Sherlock pulled away from John’s neck and shot him a wide, predatory smile. Not that John was counting, but he could probably see all of Sherlock’s teeth, though his canines drew the most attention. John had the sudden urge to have them back at his throat, biting him, marking him for everyone to see.

“The better to fuck you with, my dear.” Sherlock said.

Before John knew what was happening, Sherlock pulled the bag from his hand and deposited it on the floor. Then, with effort the consulting detective didn’t usually put into anything, he grabbed John around the waist and hauled him over, throwing him down on the kitchen table. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to rip off John’s shoes, trousers and shirt. Until nothing but the red hat was left.

Still wearing his dressing gown, Sherlock pulled a bottle of lube from the pocket. Uncapping it, he smeared a generous dollop across his fingers and quickly pressed them into John. “Uh, Sherlock!” John groaned when two fingers immediately breached him.

Sherlock said nothing, just went along working at John’s hole, stretching and relaxing the muscle. A third finger slipped in beside its friends and John was really starting to get impatient. “Fuck, Sherlock,” he panted out, hands flailing wildly as he tried to find something to grab on to. He finally managed to latch onto the table just as Sherlock spread lube over himself and started that first, slow push in.

It didn’t take long for John to be reduced to a quivering mass on the table top. With his hands braced on the table next to John’s, Sherlock hammered away at him, growling under his breath. “Yes, you feel so good,” he groaned. “So tight for me. Why would you ever want to leave? Step outside that door, you don’t know what awaits you. But I’m right here. Ready to devour you. The Big Bad Wolf… ready to eat you alive.” As if to prove his point, Sherlock leaned over John and applied teeth to neck, sucking a bruise into the tender flesh.

Beneath him, John was a moaning, writhing mass. “Sherlock… God, Sherlock…” he chanted. His hands flew up from the table to grip Sherlock’s shoulders. Finger nails dug in, probably drawing blood. Neither really cared. John would have bruises, Sherlock would have a few mysterious cuts, overall, not a bad day’s work.

“Sherlock, fuck!” John yelled. His back arched, pushing him up from the table. Thick ropes of sticky come started to paint their chests. And John couldn’t stop shouting his name. “Sherlock!”

The rhythmic clenching of John’s asshole was enough to pull Sherlock over as well. With one last bite, his screamed his climax out into John’s neck. Hips bucking furiously, table protesting loudly.

Thankfully, the table held up. It really had seen worse. So with a great shudder, Sherlock pulled out of John. He meant to go farther than that, but didn’t really make it. Instead, he just collapsed forward on the older man’s chest, his legs barely holding what little weight was balanced on them.

When they both got their breath back, Sherlock was the first to speak: “Did Harry actually call you?”

John snorted. “No. I just thought the bag of ‘goodies’ for a sick relative would carry the theme nicely.” His started stroking his hands up and down Sherlock's naked, sweaty back, not minding in the least that the man decided that staying right there was what he wanted to do. “So, are there any other childhood fairy stories that you want to ruin for me?” He giggled.

He felt Sherlock smile into his neck. “Not at present.” Another kiss was pressed to John’s skin, softer this time. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” John smiled. “It’s not like a little role playing ever hurt anyone.”

A kind of blissful silence fell over the flat for a few minutes. Then, John needed Sherlock to get up. They both climbed shakily to their feet and only managed to make it as far as the couch, which was just fine with them.

After a few more minutes tangled together, there was a knock on the door. John sat-up and grabbed the duvet from the back of the couch, throwing it over Sherlock, and—as an afterthought—himself. “Maybe if we’re quiet, they’ll go away,” he whispered.

They waited for a few seconds, but the person knocked again. “Hey guys?” Lestrade’s voice called through the door.

John rolled his eyes and dropped his gaze to Sherlock, who was half-hiding under the duvet. “Seriously?” John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. “The woodcutter needed to be represented.”

“Oh yes,” John rolled his eyes. “Because our sexual fantasies need to be _accurate_. Sorry Greg!” John called towards the door.

A sigh could be heard from the other side. “He did it again, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” John said. “Sorry about that.”

“You promised you’d keep him from doing that.”

“Sorry,” John shrugged. “I didn’t know he called you.”

“You know,” Lestrade grumbled, his voice getting farther away as he headed back down the stairs. “Most people don’t have to ask their friends twice to keep them out of their sexual escapades. Most people don’t even have to say it _once_.”

With Lestrade gone, John was free to dissolve into a giggle fit. He laid back down on the couch, pillowing his head on Sherlock’s chest. “Next time, I get to pick.”

Sherlock nodded and started to card his fingers through John’s sweaty hair. “Yes John, whatever you wish.”

“And,” he held up a finger for emphasis. “No one else will be involved when it’s my pick.”

“Well now you’re just taking all the fun out of it.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series that can be read in any order, they don't all exist in the same universe, and they only have one thing in common: kink.


End file.
